


Your Voice Is My Favorite Sound

by gunboots



Series: She's Gonna Save Me [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Again, Crack, F/M, Gen, I'm Sorry, Other, more of that mail order groom! Illya Au, please, rom-com hell, stop me, the couple that gets into fist fights together stays together, this is like pure cheesecake, this is so sappy idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/pseuds/gunboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All I'm saying is, there must be a plausible reason you put a COUNT and his posse in the hospital." Napoleon signals to get off the highway, getting ever closer to his place. "At least explain that one."</p><p>"He had soft bones." Illya finally manages after a moment, Gaby cackles, high-fiving him. The both of them are still so full of vitriol.</p><p>Napoleon meets her gaze in the mirror and it's more amusement than disapproval. </p><p> </p><p>The one where Gaby and Illya make the mistake of attending Uncle Rudi's 50th Birthday--Napoleon drives the getaway car and gets some answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Voice Is My Favorite Sound

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote more Mail Order!groom Illya...and it turned into this weird, like confession/origin story thing? I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore. Also wow, everyone really, really liked this universe and just thank you so much seriously. I don't even know what this is, like it was supposed to be this cute 'oh look at their cute married life' and became more like 'so they got into a fight together at Uncle Rudi's'. Also random Napoleon/Vinciguerras because I actually expected that to happen in the movie at one point. I may add more to this universe? I'm not sure, this movie is still away at me. 
> 
> I tried to do a quick spell check/grammar check but lol I'm sure there are some errors nonetheless. The title is from 'Ingrid Michaelson's Parachute'.

"In the spirit of inquiry--can someone explain exactly what happened?" Napoleon drawls even as Gaby leans her head against Illya's shoulder, body buzzing with energy she hasn't had in a while.

Illya's holding a takeout cup full of ice to his right eye until they can make it back to Napoleon's house and it should be a hilarious visual--this whole night should and will be hilarious in hindsight--but the both of them can't see past the anger in their minds, white hot hate settling around the both of them.

"I suppose, I can guess from Victoria's instagram but I'd much rather one of you explain what actually happened." Napoleon continues, driving along as if he didn't cross two state lines to pick them up. 

As if Gaby and Illya didn't just singlehandedly ruin her Uncle Rudi's 50th birthday.

She settles for a lopsided smile at the thought, she really hopes she did. She's got blood in her mouth and she really wants to spit it out the window but she knows it'll still hit Napoleon's car and that's not fair. She's not angry at him, he came all this way to pick her and Illya up, even though she knows he’s just returned from a photo-shoot in Milan.

"All I'm saying is, there must be a plausible reason you put a COUNT and his posse in the hospital." Napoleon signals to get off the highway, getting ever closer to his place. "At least explain that one."

"He had soft bones." Illya finally manages after a moment, Gaby cackles, high-fiving him. The both of them are still so full of vitriol.

Napoleon meets her gaze in the mirror and it's more amusement than disapproval. 

Truly, she loves him dearly.

\---

Their wounds are more superficial than anything, but Napoleon does like to fuss (not that he'll ever admit it) and fuss he does, in his obscenely large loft in downtown. Illya barely accepted the icepack to replace his cup before he gets up and begins tending to the mess around.

"I don't know if I should be insulted or flattered--Gaby, what do I do? Your husband is going through my SUITCASE." Napoleon says, even though he's dabbing at the cut on the corner of her mouth (gently, so gentle because he does love her so). 

"It bothers me." Illya says, accusingly as he surmises the mess of Napoleon's sleek suitcase set and begins to fold and sort clothing. Gaby knows he needs routine, needs to wind down from the adrenaline.

She KNOWS Illya. She may not know about his background, but she knows him--has known him for the better part of three months. Recalling Uncle Rudi's words (accusations more like) her mouth curls.

"Gaby." Napoleon's voice is more pointed this time, and he's worried, and she knows, he'd drive all the way back just to get back at Uncle Rudi and all those people at his awful party. She really does love him back.

"You know Uncle Rudi--he insulted me and Illya after we showed up to the party." She says, and she feels another flash of anger burn inside. "He...you know how he is."

Napoleon does, he really does. 

Uncle Rudi, her mother's younger brother, who held her father with contempt, her mother with disappointment, and her with polite disinterest. (Gaby still loves her father dearly, always will, but knows he is more in love with science than he is with her). Uncle Rudi, who didn't even bother to help her come to America as soon as her mother died and her step-father soon followed. 

Napoleon was the one who helped her come to the United States. Napoleon, first appeared in her failing garage in Berlin, completely lost and immediately settled in her life. Napoleon, who Uncle Rudi constantly cut down in polite passive-aggressions she'd had to witness and stomach. 

"Let me guess, he accused Illya of being a spy and you for harboring him, yes?" Napoleon's tone is amused but his eyes are stern and Gaby rolls her eyes. "And probably also added that your 'poor old mother' must be rolling in the grave." 

"That and he thought it was funny that I wasn't using you as a beard anymore--said you were free to show up with Victoria and her husband." Napoleon takes the dig with a shrug.

"You have one consensual affair with one rich, eccentric married couple and that's all you're known for." He agrees, though his shoulders are drawn tight. "...You did get a good hit in for me, though? Didn't you?"

"No," She sighs, feeling the anger leaving her slowly, like poison being drained. She shrugs, expression coy. "But I did splash a flute of champagne in his face and told him me and my husband were leaving."

"That's my girl." Napoleon's gaze is so fiercely proud, and she feels it fill her. Napoleon turns to consider Illya, who's already worked his way through his luggage and is now considering the state of the kitchen. "I can hear you judging me from here, you know."

"...I am not spy. You know that." Illya says after a moment, frowning over the counter. Napoleon coughs.

"Do I? Your profile said something about military service but it was rather sparse.” Napoleon admits and Gaby should be more concerned about how haphazard Napoleon is but she's too busy watching Illya. He looks disappointed.

“That…was my fault.” Illya says after a minute, and he glances back at Gaby. And she knows what that means too, has learned more of Illya’s tells than she knows of Uncle Rudi’s intentions over a lifetime of strained interactions. “Could you—”

“—Right, I’ll go fix us some drinks then.” Napoleon winks at her, before going to dig out the good scotch (hidden in his closet because he is just so predictable at times). “But you’re telling me about the Count later—both of you.” 

\---

“I should have explained earlier.” Illya begins, making no move towards her and she knows this, knows he needs distance, that revealing is hard for him at times. “I served in military at young age. Life was hard—my father was political prisoner. My mother, she needed money, so I quit school and joined. It broke her—father’s shame, that he ruined our family. I wanted to do anything to help and military was easy. Not complicated. Quick to rise in rank when I have nothing but shame.” 

“Something happened then?” Gaby wants to get up, wants to do or say something because this is, this is the first she’s heard of anything and really they shouldn’t even be having this conversation at Napoleon’s of all places but it’s there, and she can’t bring herself to break the spell.

Illya’s gaze is a strange, soft forlorn look that she sees him send her sometimes.

“Mother died. She was sick while I was in the field. Suddenly I realize—I have nothing. I have no family, I have no home. I retire and think to myself--I want family. I want home.” She wants to touch him now, press her hands to his face, and maybe months ago this need would startle her, scare her even, but she wants it so bad. “I…I put ad on website because I know no one, I have no prospects. I just want home.”

Her breath catches in her throat when he looks at her again, and she KNOWS that Napoleon is probably watching them, can probably hear everything about Illya and his life, yet in this moment it’s only him and her. 

“I am happy to have you. My only regret—is that you never met my mother. You would have liked her. She would have loved you.” Illya tries to make a casual movement of his shoulders but she’s tearing up just a little bit and maybe he is too. “As I love you. I am not spy Gaby. I am just man, who had nothing and wanted something.”

Gaby laughs, but it sounds just as forced, but she’s running over to him, wrapping her arms around him.

“I never thought you were one—you’d make a terrible spy.” She laughs again, and he just makes a soft noise of agreement before leaning down to grace her with a kiss.

\---

Napoleon is polite, but he’s still Napoleon after all and so he coughs loudly and places three of his nicest crystal tumblers down on the kitchen counter pointedly a few minutes later. Gaby sniffles and dabs at her eyes with the back of her wrists while Illya grimaces at him, his arms still linked around her waist. It's all very romantic really. 

“So, about the Count?” He inquires, taking out a bottle of aged brandy. “Please, tell my why you both—which well done by the way both of you—beat up a COUNT at Uncle Rudi’s?”

Gaby makes a thoughtful noise, before Illya unwinds his arms to go find his ice pack.

“He ‘accidentally’ grabbed the hem of my dress when me and Illya were already leaving.” Gaby replies, just as casual, reaching for a tumbler. “And then his two friends ganged up on Illya and I was already angry so—”

“I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing that I managed to find you someone who actually has the same temper problems you do.” Napoleon remarks, thoughtful. She reaches out her glass to toast his, clinking the crystal together.

“Oh I don’t know, I think you did alright—for once.”

“Well, that’s certainly high praise.”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’ll try.”


End file.
